


With time it grows more strong

by yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)



Series: Songs from the Jukebox [Prompt Fills] [56]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: David Rose is a Good Person, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, POV Patrick Brewer, Patrick Brewer Has a Bad Day, Post-Canon, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27143603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau
Summary: Patrick has had a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Songs from the Jukebox [Prompt Fills] [56]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775569
Comments: 54
Kudos: 286





	With time it grows more strong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ships_to_sail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/gifts).



> When someone you love has a bad day, you write them fluff. I don't make the rules. ❤️
> 
> Title is from Matthew Barber.

Patrick has had a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

It started badly enough, when he woke up alone. That rarely happens these days — even after nearly a year of marriage, David is still very much not a morning person — but on this particular Saturday David had a meeting with a potential new vendor all the way out in Thornbridge and apparently managed to slip out the door quietly enough not to wake Patrick. Which meant that Patrick woke up to an empty bed, no husband wrapped around his body for him to gently disentangle himself from. The garbage disposal made an ominous sound when he tossed his teabag down it, it took him ten minutes to find his wallet, and when he got to his car he realised the internal light had been left on all night and he had to jumpstart it.

That was all before 9am.

His day didn’t improve once he got to the store, either. The shipment of sunscreen that was supposed to arrive that morning didn’t, and Patrick had no less than four people complaining that they were out of stock as though Patrick had done it to spite them personally. Something was just a little bit _odd_ about the sandwich he picked up from the café, and he ended up throwing it out after three bites. The card reader went down in the middle of their afternoon rush, and it took a solid ten minutes for Patrick to reboot it. Roland (Senior) knocked half a dozen bottles of body milk off the shelf and onto the floor, and didn’t even offer to help clean up the mess — not that Patrick would have let him. When he brought the vegetable stands inside at the end of the day he dropped one right on his foot, making him curse as pain shot through his toe.

He’s kept David up to date on all of this via a series of increasingly frazzled text messages, and David has responded when he can but not for the last couple of hours which hopefully means he’s on his way back. He loses his count of the till twice and has to start over, but he finally manages to lock up the store forty minutes after closing and lets out a deep breath as he heads to his car. He’s half-expecting _something_ — a flat tire or bird shit on his windscreen or perhaps the first parking ticket ever issued in Schitt’s Creek — but no, he manages to slide into the driver’s seat without issue and make his way carefully back home.

When he walks through their front door it takes him a moment to register that what’s pumping through the speakers is the playlist he generally only listens to when he’s on his own; the indie-pop and country songs that make David try very hard to look like he’s not wrinkling his nose whenever he hears them. He rounds the corner only to be greeted by the sight of his husband bending over as he takes something out of the oven, and he must accidentally verbalise the appreciative thought his brain provides because David whirls around with the oven mitts wrapped around a foil-covered dish. 

A soft smile spreads across David’s face. “Oh, hi. I hear you had a bad day.”

“Did I?” Half of it has already floated out of his brain, replaced by David, here, in their home that they share and playing the music he knows Patrick likes, just because Patrick sent him a few complaining texts. He feels a wave of love well up in him so strongly that he has to physically shake his shoulders before he can speak again. “Need any help with dinner?”

David shakes his head. “I just have to dish this up.” He places the dish down before walking over to the fridge, opening the door and pulling out a beer that he pops the cap off using the bottle opener magnet. He hands it to Patrick who takes it automatically, only looking down at the label once he’s already holding it; it’s a craft beer from the brewery that recently opened up in Thornbridge. Patrick mentioned once, in passing, weeks ago, that he’d like to sample some of their beer sometime, and he knows this wasn’t in the fridge this morning.

“David.” Any further words are escaping him so he steps forward, sliding the hand that isn’t holding his drink around David’s waist and tugging him in for a long kiss, the tension he’s been carrying all day seeping out of him as David brings a hand up to wrap around his neck. When the kiss finally breaks it takes Patrick a moment to open his eyes, but when he does he sees David grinning at him.

“You go through to the living room; that sports game you like to rewatch even though you know how it ends is all queued up.”

 _That sports game_ is last year’s World Series Championship, and he knows David knows it. “Because you never watch a movie when you know how it ends.” There’s no heat in his words, and David just laughs as he turns back to deal with the food. 

Patrick meanders through to the living room, beer in hand. The game is indeed sitting there on the television, paused just after the pre-game stuff Patrick never bothers rewatching. He sinks down on the couch, knowing he’s grinning like an idiot and not caring at all, just before David steps into the room behind him holding two large bowls. It’s not until David settles in next to him and hands him one that Patrick realises with a sharp jolt what his husband has made them for dinner. It’s an old comfort food from his childhood — tater tots piled with cheese and bacon and scallions. He can count the number of times he’s eaten this in front of David on one hand.

“You’ve been talking to my mom.”

David shrugs, trying and failing to tuck his smile away. “Maybe.” 

“God, I love you, David.” It comes out on a long exhale, and David’s eyes go soft.

“I love you too.” He leans over for another kiss, over far sooner than Patrick would have liked. “Put the game on.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Come and find me on [Tumblr](http://yourbuttervoicedbeau.tumblr.com).


End file.
